


Icarus In The Big City

by AthenasAspis (TheAndromedaRecord), TheAndromedaRecord



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Atlas CEO Rhys, Atlas Contractor Sasha, Corporate Espionage, Dancing, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Hyperion CEO Angel, Just gals being pals, Light-Hearted, Major Character Undeath, Not Bl3 compliant unless gearbox goes absolutely hog wild, Not Canon Compliant, enemies to lovers speedrun, fiona stuffs chicken nuggets in her bra, very fast burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-09-26 01:08:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20381182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAndromedaRecord/pseuds/AthenasAspis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAndromedaRecord/pseuds/TheAndromedaRecord
Summary: Sasha can pick pockets in her sleep, so when Rhys offers her a large sum of money to pinch a drive off of the new Hyperion CEO at a gun launch party, she's confident that absolutely nothing won't go wrong. Surely she won't get caught. And surely she won't end up falling for the CEO, the enigmatic yet beautiful Angel Valanthe. That would be simply ridiculous.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is entirely self indulgent. i wrote it based entirely on one stupid idea i had for a scene. anyway if you're here for some lighthearted borderlands f/f you're in the right place

“Nice party,” Fiona commented, picking her teeth.

“Mhm,” Sasha agreed absentmindedly. Her eyes were fixed on the woman in the corner who was chatting with guests. Sasha passed her handbag full of purloined trinkets to her sister. “I’m going in.”

They’d already spent about three hours stuffing shrimp into hidden pockets and hobnobbing with brown-nosing investors. The excessive time-wasting was mostly because Rhys had explicitly instructed them to be quick, as he was a very busy man.

“Careful,” Fiona warned. “I hear she’s sharp.”

Sasha patted Fiona on the shoulder. “As far as she knows, I’m just one of the dumb stooges that gave Mr. Atlas his startup loan.” 

Some Hyperion newbie with her head in the clouds was unlikely to see through a con artist with Pandoran experience. And Sasha’s timing was impeccable. She appeared at the side of the new Hyperion CEO just as the woman’s previous conversation partners dispersed in the milling crowd like clouds on the edge of a hurricane.

“Do all Hyperion parties have food this good?” Sasha commented. “Because if so, I might just have to hand in my resume.” 

The woman turned to Sasha with a benevolent smile and proffered hand.

“Well, we’d be happy to have it, Sasha Mendez,” she greeted. “We haven’t had the chance to formally meet. Have you been enjoying your night?”

“You sure know how to throw a party.” Just shallow enough. Perfect. “I took a look at some of your new guns—they’re quite impressive. I found the shields interesting. What inspired that?” 

It was a bit off-script, but Sasha genuinely wanted to know. Rumor had it that the new Hyperion CEO actually knew how her guns worked, meaning she’d get a better explanation than she could wheedle out of Rhys. 

“It’s a symbol,” the CEO replied, “of Hyperion’s new dedication to protecting people.” She took a sip of her champagne. “And it actually makes the stabilizers work better.”

“Not hard to do. I can’t hit the side of a barn with those things.”

The black-haired woman laughed humorlessly. “One of Old Hyperion’s worse ideas.”

Sasha nodded. New management didn’t seem to like being reminded of the old president—she’d yet to hear the name “Handsome Jack” uttered by any new Hyperion employee. 

“So when will the shield guns be available? Are they still in the prototype stage, or—oof!”

A rather _inconsiderate_ woman in a snappy hat and red dress knocked Sasha into the CEO of Hyperion.

“Hey! Watch it!” Sasha yelled. The woman didn’t even spare her a glance. She turned back to the CEO. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Ms. Hyperion looked ruefully down at her white blouse, now dribbled with the remainder of her champagne. 

“Ah, well,” she sighed.

“I’ll grab you another glass,” Sasha offered. “It’s the least I can do, ma’am, I’m so sorry.”

The CEO produced a small flask seemingly out of nowhere.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, pouring the contents into her empty flute. “I don’t drink. It’s sparkling cider.” She paused for a moment, listening intently to her ECHO. “Damn. My PR head needs me.” She gave Sasha a smile—beautiful and enigmatic—and raised her nonalcoholic glass. “I hope to see you again, Ms. Mendez.”

“Likewise, Ms. Valanthe.”

“Please. Call me Angel.”

——

As the party wound down, Sasha took her leave and slipped out into the alley. She stuck a hand into her pocket and caressed the small drive she’d finessed from Angel when Fiona had bumped them into each other. She smirked. That marked the third time they’d stolen from a CEO; they should really get a punch card at this point.

It was the perfect job, really—go to a party with excellent food, steal from an asshole corporation, and sell the intel to Rhys while managing to annoy him a little. 

Still, she felt a twinge of guilt when she thought of Angel’s smile. The new CEO was either a good person or a great actress, good enough to fool Sasha’s amazing talents for seeing through facades. 

What even was a CEO, anyway? There was a distinction between CEO and President, Sasha knew, but it never seemed to matter. She didn’t even know what Rhys’s official title was. She’d seen “General” on his frosted glass window—what was that about? Well, she didn’t need to know. She just had to turn in the payload and get her cash.

Sasha ran her fingers over the drive, its yellow plating as smooth as a glass champagne flute—and then it was gone. She didn’t drop the drive. She was sure of it. It just vanished from her hand. 

“What the hell?” she muttered. 

Sasha turned on her penlight and scoured the ground around her, to no avail. There was no way someone could have stolen it. Maybe it had landed farther away? Or some sort of new anti-theft tech—

“Looking for this?”

Sasha whirled around to see Angel lounging against the wall of the alley a full fifteen feet away, twirling the drive between her fingers.

“Oh, that?” Sasha feigned wide-eyed innocence, as if she’d never seen the drive in her life. “No, just dropped my keys.”

“Interesting. Could have sworn this was in your pocket. Is this your keychain?”

Rather than angry, Angel looked amused. It was little comfort—Jack had looked amused too on those Helios screens. Sasha slid her hand into her pocket and palmed her pistol as Angel strode towards her, drive in hand.

“Strongfork sent you?” Angel guessed. “Should have known you weren’t here to invest in Hyperion.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Sasha warily replied, “I am actually very interested in your product.”

“You can let go of the gun,” Angel told her. She was close now, close enough that Sasha could smell her floral perfume and see the tint of apple cider on her blouse. “I’m unarmed.”

“Exactly what someone with a gun would say.” Sasha’s mind was racing. How the hell had Angel been able to steal the drive right out of Sasha’s fingers? And why was she toying with Sasha? If it weren’t for her prior experience with corporations, Sasha would assume that Angel didn’t actually plan on hurting her. “What do you want, Ms. Hyperion?”

Angel recoiled like she’d been slapped in the face. “Please call me Angel.”

Sasha took her moment of distraction to lunge for the drive, but Angel moved fast, faster than Sasha could even track. She grabbed Sasha’s wrist and tapped her collarbone with far more force than her motion would suggest, slamming Sasha into the wall. 

“No wonder you don’t have bodyguards,” Sasha said breathlessly. 

Angel smirked. Despite her wrist being pressed against the brick wall, Sasha was certain now that Angel didn’t actually want a fight to the death. This was just another dance, and Sasha could tango with the best of them.

“You’re a talented thief, I’ll give you that,” Angel said. 

Sasha had room to move, but she suddenly didn’t want to. Angel was right there, incredibly close, pinning Sasha to the wall and dangling the drive above her blazer pocket. 

“You grow up on Pandora, you develop some quick fingers,” Sasha replied. She smirked. “You wanna know what the best way to kick someone’s ass is?”

“I’d love to.”

“Get em thinking about your fingers.”

Sasha swept Angel’s legs out from underneath her and dropped like a weight out of the CEO’s grasp. Angel gave a small gasp as she righted herself, and Sasha took the opportunity to slam Angel into the wall and press a forearm against her pale neck. 

Without hesitation, Angel yanked away the arm with inhuman strength and brought them both to the ground. Sasha’s back slammed against the street and her breath escaped her with a huff. Angel was on top of her, one knee against Sasha’s stomach. 

“I don’t like chokeholds,” Angel whispered, so close to Sasha’s ear that her breath tickled the little hairs on Sasha’s temple. 

Dimly, Sasha was aware that she should probably do something about the combat superiority Angel currently had. She dismissed the thought. 

“Any other holds you’d be more comfortable with?” 

“Mmm. Kidneys are my personal favorite target.” Angel danced a finger over Sasha’s abdomen, wandering over her hip. 

“Well, I made my move,” Sasha breathed. “Your turn.”

Angel smiled. Her blue eyes were so light they changed color under the Promethean neons.

“Let’s make a deal,” she said. 

“Deals make me a bit nervous. Last time I tried one I almost pushed Rhys Strongfork out of a moving vehicle.”

Angel laughed, a clear silver bell peal in the rain-scented air.

“Well, maybe not a deal, because I’m not asking anything of you. But you have two options.”

Sasha felt the cold metal of the drive press against her stomach.

“Option one: you take this drive right now and leave. A little housewarming gift for the new kid on the block. Downside to that is, you miss a pretty great party.”

Of course. Sasha had thought it was a bit suspicious that the CEO was bringing a high-security drive to a party—and that Atlas had been able to find out about it. Angel was far more smart than Rhys had given her credit for.

“Or option two: you eat some more shrimp, get your sister all the high-class alcohol she could want, and you get this as a party favor.”

“How late does the party go? I have a very strict bedtime.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be in bed at a reasonable hour.”

A loud technowaltz started to thump through the sleek walls of the event center. Angel stood up and helped Sasha to her feet. 

“Care to dance with me?” Angel offered. 

Sasha took her proffered hand.

“Depends. Can you keep up with me?” 

Angel grabbed her waist and dipped her nearly to the asphalt. Sasha gasped, but there was no fear of falling; Angel was strong, far stronger than her long, pale arms suggested. Before Sasha could even react, she was swept back to her feet and twirled under Angel’s arms. The CEO—or President, whatever—had clearly practiced. 

“You know, you could have just told me you could dance instead of making me bust some moves,” Sasha breathed. “Showoff.”

“I know a bit about dance,” Angel murmured, “and the steps only work if both partners want them to.”

Sasha flushed. Well, it’s not like she wanted to resist. 

For years, Sasha had prided herself on her ability to seduce any target with nothing more than a smile and a sway of the hips, to blind anyone to her danger with a seemingly careless word. And she’d always taken for granted that none of her marks could give as good as they got. 

Certainly, none of them had known how to dance. 

It was like Angel had stolen all of her con woman tools along with the drive. Sasha felt naked, exposed. 

Well. Maybe that part wasn’t so bad.

“First,” Sasha told Angel, “I want more shrimp.”

“Then you shall have it.”

———

At the end of the night, Angel bid goodbye to Sasha with a smile and a gentle brush of the wrist before turning away to accompany her annoyed-looking redheaded PR manager back to wherever CEOs went after parties. 

As soon as Angel was out of sight, Fiona grabbed Sasha’s arm and pulled her outside. 

“What was that?” Fiona demanded. “This was not a honeypot job. You don’t have to seduce every woman you pickpocket.”

“Okay, you’re being overdramatic.”

“You were dancing with her! And you looked like you were having genuine fun!” 

“And?”

“And—well—okay, I’m happy to see you having fun. I just worry about you having fun with some corporate goon.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk about having fun with corporate goons. I know for a fact you and Mr. Atlas play Mario Kart on Sundays.” Sasha playfully elbowed her sister. 

“That’s so I can beat him. That’s so I can kick his ass. It’s different.” Fiona pulled an artisan chicken tender out of her bra and dipped it into the artisan ranch dressing she had in her purse. Sasha wondered why Fiona didn’t just put the nuggets in her purse. Through a mouth of chicken tender, Fiona asked, “So, you gonna tap it or what?”

“Fiona!”

“I’m just asking. Do you like her?”

“Slow down, Fi. We danced once. I stole a drive—well, no, I didn’t steal it—listen, let’s just get our money and then maybe we’ll talk.” 

“Amen to that.”

Right on cue, Rhys called Sasha’s ECHO.

“Hello?”

“Sasha! Hey! What’s up! Do you have my drive?”  
“Okay, first of all, it’s not yours until I get my money. Second of all, yes, but there’s good news and bad news. Bad news: I got caught. Good news: she just straight up gave me the drive. Bad news: that probably means it has some sort of lethal virus.” 

“What?” Fiona hissed. Sasha waved her away.

“O-okay! Cool! Very good and cool!”

“Rhys, are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

“Nope, nope, nothing much. Just, y’know, Hyperion calling up my secretary and arranging a meeting to discuss ‘possible opportunities for cooperation,’ whatever the hell that means.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen, Angel seems like probably the least batshit CEO out there, so you should be fine.”

“Yeah, that’s reasu—wait, less batshit than me? Also why are you on a first name basis with her?”

“Aw man, wish we could talk longer, but I’m almost out of minutes. I’ll be by tomorrow to drop off the drive, sorry I can’t come in earlier. I have to walk the dog.”

“Minutes? You’re on Atlas’s unlimited pl—“

Sasha hung up and turned to Fiona. 

“Let’s get ice cream.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha starts a new routine. Promethea shows off its bad weather.

The days of Promethea were not exactly ideal. 

Maliwan presence kept increasing, contributing to an anxiety that hung like smog in the air. The sun either hid away behind clouds or sent burning lances down to scald the asphalt. The people were either scared or aggressive, and Sasha always felt like they knew who she was. Her Pandoran birth to her was a burning brand on her forehead. 

The nights of Promethea, though, made Sasha want to stay far longer than planned.

The neon lights glinted in soft smudges from whatever moisture clung to the streets, creating rainbows in every path. The laughter and hum of distant cars mingled in the night air into a sort of music, harmonizing with the thudding beats emanating from nightclub doors. The best part was the smell; even with barely any plants, the humid nights were full of petrichor. It was such a contrast from years of dust and skag urine. The wonder of the Promethean nights was the reason why Sasha took a runner in the morning but chose to walk her way home.

Sasha’s walk from the Atlas administrative building to their apartment was a short one, and it took her right through the blossoming Hyperion district. She’d watched the buildings spring up nearly overnight, sending black and gold glittering spires into the turbulent sky. Now the skyscrapers were a cluster of obsidian and fool’s gold. Angel lived in one of them, Sasha knew. 

As if summoned by Sasha’s thoughts, the doors of the largest building slid open and Angel strode out, dressed in a snappy three-piece suit. Sasha had assumed that Angel’s bodyguards had been hidden at the party. But now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe Angel had a crew of Zer0s on staff. The only other option was that the CEO of Hyperion walked the streets of Promethea without any protection, and that would be ridiculous. 

It was another mile to the apartment, and it looked like Angel was heading the same way. Sasha could use the company, so she strode up to Angel, preparing her best patina smile. Hopefully this time she would be guarded against Angel’s effortless charm. 

Angel’s face brightened and her step quickened as soon as she saw Sasha. Soon, they were walking side by side. 

“Sasha,” Angel greeted. “Didn’t know you lived in the area.”

“Really?” Sasha laughed. “I thought you knew everything.”

“I know most things. Not everything. And anyway, I didn’t want to be creepy.”

“Hm. So you thought about it.”  
“I did,” Angel admitted. “And I did investigate some of your, uh, priors. Nothing too invasive. Nothing that wasn’t publicly released by the Hollow Point city council. Did you really throw a dead cat at a squad of Hyperion soldiers?”

“I’m not apologizing.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. That was Old Hyperion.”

Sasha scanned the entrances to every street and alley they passed, but caught no trace of any Hyperion bodyguards.

“So, do you really walk home every night totally alone and unprotected?”

“I’m not totally unprotected.” Angel pulled back her blazer to show Sasha a shiny shield clipped to her belt. “A spike-snipe. Top of the line. Anyone who tries to shoot me will have a nasty surprise.” She offered a half-smile. “Besides, I’m not totally alone.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “All right, I’ll walk you home. Since you twisted my arm.”

Angel’s half-smile turned to a full-on grin. “If it’s not too much trouble. Good company is so hard to find these days.”

“Where do you live, anyway?”  
To Sasha’s surprise, Angel actually told her. It wasn’t in the Hyperion district or even near most of the corporate skyscrapers. It was actually only about half a mile away from Sasha and Fiona’s apartment, in an oft-overlooked residential district full of broken-down food trucks and twisting alleyways. And it was right on the way to Sasha’s place.

Well, damn, Sasha thought. This is perfect. Which wasn’t at all perfect, because Sasha had promised herself ten million billion times that she would not form attachments on Promethea, because she was just going to leave. 

“Why out there?” Sasha asked. “I mean, you own a bunch of friggin’ city blocks. Why not just live there.”

Angel glanced over her shoulder at the glittering Hyperion spires. “They’re very…open-plan and clinical. Good for business. Bad for living. And I like being completely off the grid. That’s why I don’t have bodyguards. When I’m at home, no one gets to ask me for anything.”

“Good system. A bit unusual.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m an unusual CEO.”

“Well, I have no frame of reference for that. You’re only the third CEO I’ve met, and I don’t think either Rhys Strongfork or Handsome Jack are templates of normalcy.”

At the mention of the old Hyperion CEO, Angel stiffened. 

“You met Handsome Jack?” Her words were careful, as if a wrong syllable would set off a land mine.

“Yes—well, no, not really. I met an AI of him that promised he’d kill me and then didn’t. It’s a long story, but it ended with Rhys crashing Helios to get rid of the bastard. Which it didn’t; he had to tear off his own arm.”

“Oh, god. Is that why he has the cybernetic?”

“Wha—Oh, no, it was already cybernetic, he just had to tear it out. Sorry, I should have been more specific.”

Angel shook his head slowly. “That man was…horrible doesn’t even begin to cover it. I hope I’m never anything like him.”

Sasha looked Angel over with a critical eye and remembered the digging she’d done the day after the party—the anonymous Eridium Blight cleanup crews, the funds going to establishing local democratic governments on Pandora, the charter of worker’s rights.

“From what I’ve seen,” she told Angel, “you’re turning out to be just the opposite.” 

If Sasha had thought before that Angel’s smile was sunshine, that was nothing compared to Angel’s face now. 

“Thanks,” she said softly. “That means a lot.”

And so they established a routine. After whatever tasks Rhys had her do or tourist-y activities Fiona planned, Sasha swung by the Hyperion skyscrapers on her way home and walked Angel to her apartment. Sometimes the Hyperion buildings weren’t on Sasha’s way back. She picked Angel up anyway. 

On one such day, Sasha eyed the sky ruefully and wished selfishly that she’d just gone straight home. The Promethean clouds were even grayer and darker than usual, roiling like the surface of a turbulent ocean. Hail was on the way. Hail was rare on Promethea, but it came down like bullets—no, cannonballs—and left the streets covered in shards of snow. 

“Better walk fast,” said Angel, who had apparently noticed the same. 

They did walk fast, but not fast enough. The hail started streaming down in pellets about a block from Angel’s house. Angel digistructed an umbrella and held it over the two of them, but the fabric was mercilessly buffeted by the mounting winds that drove the hail sideways. They took off in a sprint and reached Angel’s door just as the hail began to fall in earnest. A chunk the size of a golf ball glanced off of Sasha’s shoulder, and she yelped in surprise and pain.

“Get in,” Angel urged as she threw open the door. Sasha didn’t argue. 

“Are you all right?” Angel asked once they were both safely inside.

Sasha nodded and poked her arm. It would leave a bruise, but it didn’t hurt too much. “No, I’m fine. I better call a runner, though."

Angel checked something on her ECHO and frowned. “Actually, you better not. It’s a big one—all the runner services are shutting down for the night, and Atlas and Maliwan both issued an extreme weather advisory for the next five hours.”

“Oh. Well.”

“You’re welcome to stay the night here. I was just planning on eating some ice cream and watching a bad horror movie, if you’d like to join me.”

As if Sasha would ever pass up a chance to freeload off an executive and watch B-list horror. 

“Count me in.” 

She stripped off her jacket—already soaked—and threw it unceremoniously over the coat rack. Even her shirt underneath was wet. Her white shirt. Sasha realized that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“I’ll go get you some of my pajamas,” Angel offered. “Feel free to take a look around.”

Angel left the room, and Sasha took stock of her surroundings. Sasha already knew that Angel wasn’t the typical executive, but subconsciously she had still been expecting typical executive lodgings. They all seemed to have the same aesthetic: open plan, big windows, tasteful minimalism. Angel’s apartment was far different. The entryway was small, with doors of all shapes and sizes leading off of it. Through some open doors, Sasha could see that the rest of the dwelling extended into a labrynth of rooms stuffed with cushy chairs and couches. At first, Sasha thought that every wall was multicolored leather. However, as she looked closer, she realized that the walls were all bookcases. Bookcases! Sasha couldn’t even imagine the cost. 

The room flashed with light, and Sasha jumped. She looked up and realized it had been a flash of lightning—Angel’s ceiling was made of glass. 

“Whoa,” Sasha breathed. She’d been in awe of the architecture of Promethea before, sure, but this was the first place where she’d felt truly comfortable. Like it was a place engineered for the soul. Somehow, Sasha knew that Angel had a hand in its design.

“Here.” Angel reentered the room and handed Sasha a bundle of clothes. “The bathroom’s through there. Just throw your wet clothes over the towel rack. I’ll start the movie.”

Once Sasha was dressed in Angel’s soft fleece pajamas, it took her a few tries to find the right door. She lingered a bit in every new room she found, each of which felt like a secluded nook—except for the glass ceiling that let in the roiling energy of the sky. Finally, she opened a door to find Angel dumping a pile of soft blankets onto a well-loved couch. The TV was older than Sasha anticipated—at least ten years old, no surround holos. 

Angel followed Sasha’s gaze. “I prefer old tech. Less likely to act up.”

“I thought you were a hacker.”

“I am. That’s why I don’t want anything with an ECHOnet connection within thirty feet of where I sleep. I don’t trust it.”

Sasha nodded. “That’s smart. You couldn’t pay me to get cybernetics. Especially not after hearing about how Rhys’s almost killed him.”

“What?”

“Eh, I’ll let him tell you. You guys are friends now…right? Or at least will be friends eventually.”

Angel shrugged and curled up on the couch, fiddling with the remote. “We’ve had a few meetings. I’m trying to be friendly, but he isn’t giving me an inch. He doesn’t trust me at all. Is he always like that?”

“No,” Sasha sighed, flopping down on the pillows. “He’s a total softie usually. But he doesn’t trust anything Hyperion.”

“I can imagine.” Angel turned on the TV. “People don’t usually face Handsome Jack and walk away, and those who do leave with a vengeance.” 

The title screen for the movie—Attack Of The Space Zombies From Hell 2: Lost In New York—lit up the screen. Angel gestured to a tub of ice cream resting on the coffee table alongside two spoons. 

“Ready to be terrified?”

Sasha took a spoon. “I don’t scare easily.”

“Well, I hope not. I’m not going to hold your hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: do not expect this fic to be remotely coherent. this is just whatever lesbian jackshit i can throw at a wall


End file.
